For nearly 37-years, she was simply known  as “Sheep’s Flat Jane Doe.” She was discovered shot to death by hikers near a trail close to Mount Rose Highway, in Washoe County, Nevada, on July 17, 1982.

But now she has her given name back: Mary Silvani, born in Pontiac, Michigan, in 1948. After developing a DNA profile from a rape kit taken at the time her body was discovered, detectives used a set of fingerprints provided by the Detroit Police Department from a misdemeanor arrest in 1974, to verify the body was that of as Mary.

Cold case cops also have the perpetrator of the crime – a man who died in prison five months after the murder – James Richard Curry, born in Texas. In 1946. He was identified after his two children provided voluntary DNA samples, confirming that their DNA matched those of the Mary’s murderer.

Five months after Mary was killed, Curry confessed to committing three other murders in California while in custody. He’d been arrested after he killed a man in his home and sexually assaulted the man’s wife, kidnapped her and killed her.

Curry died in 1983 in prison several days after a suicide attempt. The other murders Curry committed occurred in California’s San Jose and Santa Clara counties and suspect he may have also killed a co-worker from Waukena, in Tulare County, also in California, where he had lived, but that victim’s remains have not been located.

It was in April 2018 when the Washoe County Sheriffs cold case squad and forensic unit began working with the DNADoe Project and IdentiFinders International to make the duel identifications. However, there’s still more work to be done as investigators still don’t know whether or how Curry and Silvani knew each other.

Meanwhile, the Eldorado County, California, Cold Case Task Force has been busy solving two other decades old murders in the South Lake Tahoe area. In 1977, horseback riders discovered 27-year-old Brynn Rainey’s body buried in a shallow grave near Stateline Stables and two years later, 16-year-old Carol Andersen’s battered corpse was found dumped alongside a road.

Investigators recently identified the murder suspect as deceased South Lake Tahoe resident Joseph Holt after hiring Parabon NanoLabs, to construct a “family tree” from DNA obtained from both crime scenes.

DNA samples taken from Carol’s body during her autopsy, as well as those collected from a blood stain left on Brynn’s shirt, were later matched to the suspect’s brothers. Holt grew up in San Jose, California, was a graduate of Cupertino High School and the University of California, Berkley. In 1974 and moved to South Lake Tahoe in 1974 where he launched a career in real estate, dying in 2014 at the age of 67.

The task force is still investigating whether Holt is responsible for other unsolved crimes. Call the task force tip line at 530-621-4590 if you have any further information on Holt, these two cases or any other unsolved crime.

My wife explaining why having a regular bed time is important: “It’s not because you’re tired, it’s because you exhaust me.”

She said she was working as stripper so she could feed her kids. You should’ve seen her face when I put seven cans of green beans on the stage.

If a man is always wrong and the woman always right, then the man tells the woman she’s right, is he still wrong?

As we say here in the backwoods, “She was dressed to nines.” She had bought all sorts of glamour magazines to learn the fanciest dressing a woman could anywhere whether it be our little burg or the big city, which she hoped to visit soon.

Once that big day came, she wrapped herself in in her finest red fox fur and piled into the back of the Greyhound bus for her big trip. She’d never been to the city and at 19-years-old and two-years out of high school she figured she should treat herself before she had to get married, settle down and start raising kids.

After hour-upon-hour of road way and riding, she finally reached her destination. It was more fabulous than she could have ever imagined, as neither radio nor black-and-white TV could do it justice.

As she marveled at the new sights, the unbelievable sounds and the incredible smells, she was accosted by a group of animal rights activists who began taunting, harassing and shouting at her. Without warning one of them tossed a cup of red paint on her as they screamed ‘Animal murderer!’

That’s when the red fox unwound himself from her shoulders and neck and with his gleaming white, but very sharp teeth bared and a guttural snarl, chased those protesters away. He’d always been protective of her like that.

There’s nothing like sitting by the campfire — watching the evidence burn.

I used to dream of Camelot. Now, I dream of Cameltoe.

I bought the book, “The Joy of Cooking,” because someone told me it was ‘better than sex.’ So, now what do I do with my “The Joy of Sex” book?

Dominic promised himself that he would not put up a fight or openly show fear. Instead he planned to walk to the “Ending Room” without hesitation.

It was the waiting he had to admit that was the hardest. He knew this day was coming three months ago but he had no idea the final few hours would be so difficult.

For as much as he thought he knew, he was suddenly uncertain. What was to happen next was a guessing game more than any knowledge he had acquired over the years of “working” for the Central Government.

He sat watching the two Enforcers, dressed in black with their large mustaches and wooden clubs. Where he sat was no bigger than what Dom remembered to be the size of an old-fashioned phone booth.

Dom knew there would be no last meal, besides he wasn’t hungry. The fish-odored cube of sustenance would be better used to feed someone else anyway.

Suddenly there was some sort of disturbance in the far end of the hallway. Within seconds a smallish man dressed in a heavy orange robe wearing a large white beaked mask over his face, strode by Dom’s holding place.

The ‘Grand Phoenix,’ Dom instantly recognized. He knew then his death was imminent.

Old as he was Dom was still physically fit. He had only recently experienced a slowing down of his motor skills, but then he was nearly 60 years old, and such things could be expected.

Without warning the waiting was over as one of the Enforcers stepped forward and yanked the steel cage door along its tracks. Dom waited to be invited to stand up.

However because he did not stand right away the Enforcer, joined by the other, grabbed him under the arms and lifted him roughly to his feet. Dom jerked his arms free from their heavy grasps and stepped forward on his own.

He turned in the direction that the Grand Phoenix walked. He lifted his head, sucked his stomach in and pushed his chest out as he walked the few steps to the “Ending Room.”

The “Ending Room’ was bright and sterile. It was the cleanest place he had seen in decades and it startled him, so much so that he stumbled in the doorway.

“So much for a graceful entrance”, Dom stated aloud as the Enforcers grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him up.

They guided him backwards to a large board standing on end. They forced him against what turned out to be a metal table covered with a white cloth.

From there the two Enforcers worked quickly and quietly buckling the leather strap around his waist. Dom relaxed as best he could as the pair immobilized his legs followed by his right arm and finally his left.

Once finished, the table jerked to life and started tilting backwards. Dom could feel the hum of the electric motor buried somewhere inside the tables thick pedestal.

“So this is where all that energy I’ve produced over the years went,” Dom joked, though no one laughed.

Before he knew it, a woman wearing a white surgical mask appeared by his side. She slapped his left arm where the elbow bends and produced a needle that she gracefully slipped through his paper like skin and into his blue throbbing vein.

Once again he felt the motor inside the tables single leg hum to life as it tilted forward. Within seconds Dom was upright, feet on the ground again, but with his arms held outright from his body.

Standing in front of him were the two Enforcers and the Grand Phoenix. Dom couldn’t help but to once again notice how small and unhealthy the man dressed in orange seemed.

Then the Grand Phoenix spoke, causing Dom to snicker. Not only was the man scrawny, his voice was high-pitched and weak.

An Enforcer stepped forward and struck Dom hard in the stomach with the end of his club.

The older man tried to tighten his muscles from the blow but it hurt all the same: “Really?” Dom challenged, “Is that all you got?”

The Enforcer moved forward again with his club poised to strike the old man on the side of the head. It was the Grand Phoenix who intervened in the coming beating.

Instead the Grand Phoenix held a scroll in his left hand above his head. He allowed it to unfurl, where upon the end of the parchment bounced of the surface of the hard floor.

The man in the bird mask started “You’ve been found guilty by the Central Authority of being non-productive and are hereby sentenced to death via lethal injection.”

It all sounded so official, but Dom recognized it for what it was — parsing: Saying one thing and meaning something else entirely. He had perfected the art of parsing as a writer for the Authority Publishing Bureau, having worked his way up from typesetter, to ink monkey and finally as a typist.

Still the Grand Phoenix droned on reading out the list of events of Dom’s life the Central Authority know about. The worse according to the man behind the mask was how Dom had participated in the mass “Fall Riots of 2015.”

In the distance the emergency bell rang.